#werkweek

Helena De Greveleer schreef een kortverhaal tijdens de workshop van Simone Basani. "Am I Evil?" is een langer lopend onderzoek rond verlangen, schrijven en macht.

Don't Interfere

The foliage of the forest gets thicker and thicker as I try my best to make my way through it, while still staying on the path, however overgrown by plants it may be. I could go off the path, since I know this forest by heart, but I’d rather not scare the animals. My pocket knife cuts through the branches which are hanging in my way.

I slip my knife back into my pocket, put my auburn hair into a ponytail and push my glasses up my nose. I take the protective cover off my camera lens as I turn it on.

The path gets wider again, I’ve reached the clearing. The dark green grass appears even darker in the almost non-existent shine of the moon. The phase of the moon is the waning crescent, meaning it’ll almost be a new moon. It looks exactly the same as the last time I came here, on my twentieth birthday, when my boyfriend broke up with me. Back then, the moon had been almost new too.

Step by step, I walk closer to the old oak tree, where he carved our initials into the bark. Twigs snap under my feet as I take my pocket knife out again. I start scratching over the initials, when I’m done you can’t even see what was written there anymore.

I slowly walk over to the centre of the clearing. I sit down on the grass. It’s still damp because it rained earlier today.

My mind flashes back to the last time I sat here. In this exact spot. My head on his chest. His hands in my hair as he held me close… Moments before he’d break my heart, just like he promised he wouldn’t do. Except he did.

Further away a wolf howls. I can hear it clearly. So, the wolf must be somewhere nearby. Somewhere in the forest, which could honestly be everywhere, since this isn’t a big forest at all.

I check my camera’s settings and take some pictures of the clearing and the trees surrounding it. The moon is illuminating the space slightly, but I still use my flash, because I like how it looks and otherwise my pictures turn out too dark. The only time when I don’t use flash is when I’m actively photographing animals.

The bushes on the other side of the patch of grass rustle. I look up from my camera. Scared bleating reaches my ears, right before a small lamb with white fur and a black head, runs onto the field.

“Hey, little one…” I whisper as I take a few pictures. My flash goes off, I forgot to disable it after the last picture I took with it on. Shit. The flash startles the lamb, she freezes as she notices me.

I push myself up onto the back of my feet, so I’m crouching rather than sitting. I turn the flash off and ready my camera to take another picture, my roommate would love this.

But as I take another picture, the bushes rustle again. The lamb bleats in fear. She starts to run, towards the trees.

A grey wolf emerges from the bushes, for a moment time stands still, as the wolf’s eyes lock onto the lamb. Then, everything jumps back into motion way too quick.

The wolf runs towards the lamb. Biting into the little animals neck, while she’s still running. A terrified, pained bleat leaves her mouth. A fountain of blood spews out of her neck, it splatters all over the grass. The lamb falls limp.

It finally sinks in what’s happening between the two animals. Between predator and prey.

I zone out as I’m staring at the animals and close my eyes, when I open my eyes again, it’s not the wolf and the lamb I’m seeing. It’s my childhood dog and a different wolf, my dog being bitten in his neck.

I’m twelve again, watching my dog lunge at a wolf, which had snuck into our garden at dusk, only to get overpowered and killed.

My father is holding me back from running over to them. I’m screaming and crying, trying to get out of his grip as my mom tries to calm me down by whispering soothing words in my ear.

“Stop moving, Scarlett. You can’t interfere. That’s just how nature works.” My dad tells me.

I didn’t believe him. We had to do something.

“But we have to help him!” I scream.

“We can’t help him anymore, sweetie. It’s too late.” my mom says softly.

I shake my head, I didn’t want to believe it.

My mind is flashing between then and now. The sight of the lamb and the wolf, and my dog and the wolf are painfully similar.

I should help the lamb. Even though I’m not allowed… I can’t just stand by and watch like I did before. I just can’t do that. Not again.

In a split second I decide. I don’t care if it’s reckless. Screw it all. I’m helping that poor lamb.

“Hey! Back off!” I yell as I run towards the wolf. “Get away!” I’m standing right next to the wolf and lamb when I realise the latter isn’t even breathing anymore. A gaping wound graces her neck.

I freeze as a soft gasp escapes my lips, “No…”

The wolf looks up. Blood dripping from his chin onto the grass. Fur stained red. Both the wolf’s fur and the lamb’s wool.

I was too late.

I couldn’t save the lamb.

My eyes lock on the wolf’s. He growls at me and bares his teeth. White stained with red liquid.

What did I get myself into… I shouldn’t have interfered. I should’ve just listened to what my parents always told me.

The wolf takes a step forward, I step back, my camera forgotten in my hand. Every step he takes towards me is a step I take back. It’s almost like a dance. A dance for my life…

Then he starts to run. My first instinct is to freeze, before realising I should run. So that’s what I do. I run. My camera falls out of my hand, the lens cracks and shatters on impact. The glass shards lay all across the grass. I push through the foliage as fast as I possibly can. Branches hit me in the face, one of the lenses from my glasses cracks because of the hit. I can feel that I have small cuts on my face too.

A pained howl follows me. I look back. The wolf has stepped on one of the shards. There’s glass imbedded in one of his front paws. He’s limping. Every time he puts that paw on the ground, he whines because it hurts, so he stops walking on it, using his other three legs to walk. His wounded leg is curled up against his body, so he can’t accidentally use it.

I slow down and eventually stop running. I turn around and slowly I inch closer to the wounded animal. One of my hands extended to show him I’m not a threat.

I’m right in front of him and reaching out to touch his paw, when he lunges at me. I scream in terror and pain as I fall onto my back and an excruciating feeling shoots through my leg. All the air leaves my lungs. My glasses fall from my face, onto the ground. Luckily for me I can still see a little bit. Not well, but enough. The wolf left deep, red gashes on my leg. His claws are imprinted in my skin. Thick, sticky, metallic, red blood runs down my leg.

I can’t get up, since the wolf is on top of me. His not wounded front paw on my chest, the other just hanging there. His head right above mine. The lamb’s blood drips from his muzzle onto my face. My breathing turns more panicked, more ragged. I feel tears threatening to escape my eyes, and I let them fall.

I reach for his wounded paw, I wanted to take the glass out, so he wouldn’t hurt anymore. But he growls and bares his teeth, so I back down.

His head gets closer to mine.

He’s a predator and now I’m his prey.

He looks like he could kill and devour me any second now.

I don’t want that. I have to do something…

Why did I try to help him…? I only screwed myself over. Again.

His muzzle is almost at my throat.

A cold, suffocating feeling spreads through my body as fear takes over, while the wolf fills each and every one of my senses. I’m sobbing now. Hard. I couldn’t stop crying even if I tried.

Is this it? Is this the end? It can’t be. I won’t let it be.

He’s about to tear my throat out. In a moment of pure panic, I grab my knife out of my pocket and stab him in his chest. He howls, the howl sounding like a cry. He falls limp, on top of me. His blood staining my clothes.

I gently push the dead wolf off of me.

I did exactly the one thing I am not allowed to do as wildlife photographer. Killing an animal…

I sit up and push my blood stained hair out of my face. It came loose because my hair tie snapped when I fell. I try to wipe my tears, but I can’t stop crying so it doesn’t help. All it does is make the blood that’s on my hands stain my face even more than it already is.

I pull my knife out of the wolf’s chest. My hands trembling as I do so.

As I try to stand up, my knees buckle underneath me almost immediately. I hit the forest ground again. I don’t try to get back up.

I look at the wolf, he’s lying there so still, a puddle of dark blood forming underneath him.

It makes me feel bad. He didn’t do anything wrong.

He’s an animal which needs to hunt. His kind needs to do that so they can survive. Hunting is natural for wolves…

It is not natural for humans, who have the ability to grow stuff and get their food in different ways. We don’t need to hunt.

But in the end… I had to choose. It was either him or me… And since humans are all selfish in their own way, it was him. And I survived, while I was the one who started all of this.

Dress up a table (as a graphic item)

Docu:

Insights 2014: Lance Wyman, New York

Angie Keefer in conversation with Julia Born

My Architect - A Son’s Journey

Systematisch slordig: Bram de Does, letterontwerper en typograaf

Werkweek Ping Pong